𝑵𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒔𝒎

                   𝑵𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒔𝒎

                           ᴮʸ· ᴵᵈˡᵉ

Your words are like venom, black and caustic,

They seep beneath my skin, burning through tissue and bone.

You hurt so many around you with calculated precision,

Watching us writhe with those cold, unblinking eyes.

You surround yourself with hollow vessels,

Sycophants who shower you with honeyed praise

Because you've carved away their spines with surgical malice,

Rendered them too weak, too blind to see the monster behind your smile.

Those who once stood tall now cower in your presence,

They refuse to tell you "no" — they've learned the cost

Of truth-telling in your twisted kingdom.

Their silence purchases a fragile peace.

The power you clutch with white-knuckled desperation

Has always been yours, though you deny it with practiced innocence.

You tell yourself pathetic lies about your own victimhood,

Hunting for pity like a starved predator, devouring every ounce offered.

When someone dares to name your faults,

Your fury erupts like magma beneath thin crust —

You internalize nothing but the perceived slight,

And lash out with the brutality of a cornered beast.

You REFUSE to believe in your own ugliness!

You REFUSE to face the damage your hands have wrought!

You REFUSE to heal the wounds you've inflicted!

Your denial roars like thunder in a barren landscape.

Instead, you slither back to your garden of irers,

Those you've cultivated with painstaking attention,

Too frightened to agree with what they secretly know,

Or so deeply entangled in your labyrinth of lies

They can no longer distinguish truth from fiction.

God, how I wish someone would drag you screaming

Before a mirror that shows no distortion,

Force your eyes wide open to behold your REAL self —

That grotesque, writhing creature that torments my dreams.

The ugliness isn't in your face but in the void where your soul should be,

In the emptiness that hungers endlessly for validation,

In the cruel machinery of your mind that grinds empathy to dust.

You hold such suffocating power.

I feel your phantom hand crushing my windpipe,

A vice tightening with methodical pressure

Until something inside me fractures beyond repair.

I swallow screams that never reach my lips,

Terrified of the swift and merciless consequences

Of speaking a truth you cannot bear to hear.

I wanted you to be good. God help me, I NEEDED you to be good.

I clung to the desperate fantasy that you could change,

That beneath the narcissism pulsed a heart capable of growth.

I constructed elaborate scenarios where you finally SAW yourself,

Where revelation led to remorse, remorse to redemption.

But that transformation was never in your cards,

Was it?

Your deck was stacked from the beginning,

Marked with invisible ink only you could see.

The game was rigged, the outcome predetermined.

I was always meant to lose this battle of wills and words.

Now my rage burns down to cinders,

Anger giving way to the cold weight of certainty.

My words will never penetrate your fortress of self-delusion.

My pain will never on your emotional radar.

My truth will never matter in the distorted reality you've constructed.

You will continue to reign in your kingdom of mirrors,

Each reflecting back only what you wish to see,

While those of us who know your true face

Retreat into silence or flee beyond your reach.

The hope I harbored dies a quiet death,

Its absence more painful than the fury that preceded it.

In its place grows the hollow knowledge

That some people cannot be reached,

Cannot be changed,

Cannot be saved,

Even from themselves.

Especially from themselves.